Professor!Loki. In which Loki is good, Jor, Fen, Hel, Nari and Vali are awesome. While Loki becomes the DADA professor at Hogwarts and adopts Harry. Some Dumble and S.H.I.E.L.D bashing. Set in first year. Read notes and warnings!

AU-time shifting. First Year of Hogwarts for Harry, but after The Avengers with Loki. Canon events are used.

Summary:

Professor!Loki. In which Loki is not quite a bad guy, just a mischief-making god and a good parent to his children, Jor, Fen, Hel, Nari and Vali. While deciding he's had enough to being used and manipulated by a higher 'power' Loki decides to take some "time-off" for the sake of his sanity and children. He chooses to hide as a "wizard" in plain sight, by becoming the DADA professor at Hogwarts. Eventually, Loki adopts Harry. Some eventual Dumbledore and S.H.E.I.L.D bashing. Set in first year for Harry and after the Avengers Movie for Loki, so ignore canon dates. This is very AU.

Pairings:

None at present.

Disclaimer:

I do not own any Harry Potter anything (That belongs to J.K. Rowling), or Marvel's Avengers. I just like playing with them and Harry in my own little world of storyville. I make no money by writing this fanfiction. All original characters are my own.

Rating:

M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 due to the warnings presented below the Author's Note.

Author's Notes: I can't find a single fic where Loki adopts a kid!Harry. It just seems adorable to me, so I'm writing one. I love fics where Loki is a good, considerate parent and figuring in all his odd/weird kids, I think, if given the chance, he'd be happy to just play Father to time and indulge in typical mischeif-not trying to rule worlds and stuff. This is supposed to be a family-oriented fic for Loki and his kids (with Harry included, eventually) and a touch of mystery, 'cause all stories need conflict. (and I need headspace, so if I don't write this out soon, I won't be able to concentrate.) I am thoroughly wrecking Norse Mythology here as well, such as Jor with six eyes and Fenrir with twin tails, but seriously-this is AU and it is a Story which is FICTION. I'm having fun with it. Don't like it, don't read it and don't complain. :P

WARNINGS: Mature themes. Grey fic, possibly, will contain dark elements. Will contains mentions of slash(m/m), moments/mentions of femslash(f/f), and Het (m/f), Please remember that LOKI can shapeshift, so also features regular Loki and Lady!Loki. Nothing explicit as per FF guidelines. Possible gore/torture in future chapters. Some Angst. Fluff. Perpetual Mystery. Mentions of Abuse. Mpreg(It's Loki, remember?). Alcohol. Corporal Punishment. OC's. OOCness. Very AU. Some Dumbledore bashing, mild Avenger-related bashing, S.H.I.E.L.D bashing. De-aging! Kid!Harry. Crossovers with other Marvel Characters may occur. Other warnings will be added as I see fit.

Chapter One

The punishment had been horrible.

Stitching his mouth shut—again. That wretched venom-drip—again. A daily barrage of beatings, floggings and general abuse—again. The bindings and the mouthpiece from Midgard—again.

Loki, god of lies and mischief, wondered what exactly he'd ever done to them. The biggest mistakes he had ever made were not even for his own sake, but that of his family and that of said family's honor.

The Allfather's honor.

And yet, his sacrifices were for naught, his sufferings for nothing and his torture for pleasure.

It happened at the last minute and the most inopportune time.

When they ordered Thor to retrieve Loki from after Asguard's punishment had been afforded, the quick-minded trickster knew that was the only chance he would ever be afforded.

No one had thought to ask him why he'd done it. What had been wrong. What had prompted him to do such a thing. What could've been worth the risk. They hadn't even asked. He'd weathered their cruelties, because, in his own twisted heart, he could not deny that some penance was required. Mischief and chaos did not necessarily mean death and he had brought about deaths for many mortals without even trying.

But no one had even given him the chance to explain. Hel had. She'd fumed and sputtered and raged him for messing up her neatly ordered lines for the arriving dead, but she had not rejected nor refused him.

Well, she had refused him, actually. The last day of 'torture-Loki' had quite nearly killed him. Hel had stepped in, just for the sake of sending his soul back. She'd kissed his forehead and begged him to promise that he would not play the martyr for things that were out of control.

Had it been anyone else, perhaps he wouldn't have cared nor listened.

Perhaps.

After all, the Midgardian mortals had simply pretended that he really was a monster and by that, it was justification enough.

Loki stifled a shudder.

Oh, how he hated that term. Monster. But then again, it was merely another way for Aseir and those pathetic mortals to distance themselves in a way that made them comfortable.

Well.

He certainly had no intention of allowing them to lock him away in more ways than one or to keep doing as they pleased around him. He'd managed to fool them all quite nicely, thank you very much, and he intended to keep it that way. At the hands of Asguard's best and worst, he'd suffered suitably—though the only memorable point of mention had been Hel's scolding and subsequent assistance—but that was beside the point.

He'd had enough.

In the moment where Thor approached for the leading manacle to be transferred to him from Nick Fury, Loki took it.

They'd all thought to stifle his magic, to bind him, to control him. They'd sent him to Asguard in the wretched things and many of the Aseir had rejoiced about it. A trickster with no trickery was naught to be afraid of after all.

But no one had thought to do anything beyond that.

Which was why this worked.

Hel, my darling daughter...

He thought fiercely of her and begged with the last tendrils of sanity resting in his soul.

The flash of sulphur and ash swallowed him whole—magical bindings and all.

Nick Fury stared at the empty space beside him where the trickster god had been all of three seconds ago. He couldn't keep and didn't try to keep the absolute roar from his voice as he sent S.H.I.E.L.D officers running for cover and scrambling to do as he requested.

Thor's sudden, grim expression was marred only by the tightening of his usually clueless features into something rather dark. He had thought there was something off about the battered, lean body. "Loki…"

And that was that.

When Loki woke beside his daughter, it was with a sense of peace and hopefulness. It almost made him sick to his stomach, but he supposed he could stomach it for a few more minutes as it did serve to put a rather ridiculous smile on his face as he stared up at her worried features. A smile that he knew she couldn't quite see yet, but would read from the light in his eyes.

She was completely skeletal, aged eyes and brittle skin at this point. After all, it afforded a far more imposing figure in Niflheim, than her more pleasing appearance by mortal standards.

"Father." It was said reprovingly as the tall, bony figure straightened with some difficulty, the long, gauzy swathes of material fluttering about her. "What did you think you were doing?" She waved a hand at the contraption on his mouth disintegrated. "No, do not answer that yet. Think of the answer, because I want to know." Tentative fingers danced over the awkward stitches. "How dare they mar your face again…" There was venom in her voice. "I ought to steal their souls in the dead of night!"

"Mmm." Loki protested.

She pinched his cheek for the effort and then whispered a complicated spell to undo the magicked thread.

He was proud of her as they dissolved into nothing and the throbbing in his face eased and faded. Her healing spells had improved drastically. As had her spellwork.

"I wanted to see you." Loki countered, immediately. He smiled at her this time, so she could see it. She returned the expression, mildly. He sat up and glowered at the manacles on his hand.

Hel sighed. She reached out with one barely skinned hand; touching the restraints and watching them shrivel and crumble. "And now you have seen me," she said, darkly. "And I will not ask you again to-"

Loki reached up and pulled her down into a hug.

There was a muffled squeak that came out more of a cough before it settled into a dignified 'hmph'. Hel didn't fight the embrace. She sank into it, a moment later, allowing her father's arms to tighten even more around her fragile body.

"You scared me." She admitted, quietly.

He cradled her head to the crook between his neck and shoulder. "I did not mean to." He kissed her thinning hair.

Skeletal hands fisted in the tattered material of his green overtunic. "Was it worth it?"

"Almost." He admitted. "It is always worth it to see you."

Hel snorted. "Must you always nearly kill yourself to visit?"

"You know I cannot breach Niflheim without Sleipnir." Loki murmured. "At least, not without some preparation beforehand and I did not mean to distress you so."

"I know." The death goddess settled herself comfortably in his lap. "It pains me still, to see your soul approaching, dancing about as it comes before me to be judged." She hitched a breath. "How do you always know?" There was a faint hitch in her voice. She didn't really want to know, didn't really care to know, it just bothered her to realize that every time her mischievous father could die, she'd seen his veiled soul approach and knew to reach across the realms and steal him while he still lived.

"That is my secret." He whispered. "And thank you for guiding me back yet again." He shifted with a mild grimace as his magic caught up to the present realm of death and also attempted to heal what cuts, scrapes and bruises had adorned his captive body.

"What did they do to your face?"

Loki stiffened. He'd wondered if she'd notice what the Midgardian contraption had done. It wouldn't have left any marks if they'd secured it properly.

They hadn't.

It was almost been as trying as the first time they'd stitched his mouth shut.

Wretched fools.

He forced himself not to flinch as Hel's bony fingers skittered lightly around his mouth, fingering the scars and caressing thin lips. She pushed gentle tendrils of dark healing magic into the grooved skin.

"Nothing, my little darkling." He murmured. "Absolutely nothing. How long do we have?"

Hel's sigh was soft, but painful. "Ten, maybe fifteen minutes." She mused. "I shall have one of The Horsemen count." She gave a careless wave of one bony hand. "There." Pointed teeth gnawed on a lower lip. "Where shall I send you this time?"

"Perhaps more what they didn't do?" Loki suggested, delicately. He did not particularly want to speak of his youngest and most troublesome children. At least, not in his present state. They were running about somewhere on Midgard, trying to keep a low profile and not quite succeeding. He was not looking forward to dragging them out from whatever hole they'd dug for themselves. He was looking forward to dragging them out by their ears.

"Will you be hiding again?"

Loki opened his mouth to automatically deny that, when he stopped and checked himself. It made sense to 'hide' as Hel put it, mostly because his 'hiding' wasn't quite the kind of 'hiding' that the mortals and Aseir expected. Perhaps for this cycle of his life he could stand to do something that tugged at his nonexistent heart.

"Father…"

He shushed her with a gentle squeeze, his mind wandering quickly and carefully. He would not live without his magic, he would not. It was simply easier and too ingrained for him to ignore, thus, it would require that he took up residence somewhere that magic was not an issue and oh—he almost smiled.

"…Papa!" Hel thumped his chest with both fists. She glowered up at him with dark eyes.

"Yes, impertinent one?" He drawled.

"You're cackling again." She informed him, primly. "What is so nauseatingly wonderful that you have to laugh about it in such a disturbing way?"

"I do not cackle!" Loki retorted, affronted.

"Father!"

"Hogwarts?"

"It is a school for magicked children. Mortal children." Loki amended when Hel frowned at him.

"And you would stay there?"

"It seems a suitable cover and environment."

"And you would allow me to come with you?"

"You are always welcome beside me, Hel."

"But I could come, this time?" There was no mistaking the hopefulness in her voice.

"Yes. But you may also have to hide yourself."

She frowned at that, and then sighed. "I would have to be Hela?"

"Yes."

"…could I wear a mask?"

"A mask?"

"To hide my face." Her features shifted and rearranged themselves, the old, frail body reworking its very chemistry to present the young, tween with soft, supple skin and glowing, lustrous locks of thick, ebony hair. It settled, then immediately split itself halfway down her face as it often did, the youth to the right, death to the left. It was the best she could do without straining her magic. It was tiresome to keep it up, but she had worked at it for quite some time. It wouldn't do ruin whatever cover they could have.

When Hel 'ported him into the Isle of Triangle, or the Bermuda Triangle as the Midgardians called it, he was greeted with an anguished roar as Jörmungandr broke the rippling surface, all fanged teeth, glowing red eyes and flared hood.

Loki stood calmly upon the sandy beach and folded his arms to wait. He knew that roar a little too well. Sometimes he could swear this particular son was more sea monster than monstrous serpent. It took a few more minutes of thrashing, roaring and general mayhem before the noise died down. Loki pretended not to notice as he brushed invisible specks of nothing from his immaculate and newly repaired clothing, courtesy of Hel.

Jörmungandr finished his temper tantrum with a tidal wave directed to his father.

The trickster merely threw a spark of magic to dry himself after he'd been drenched. He then wrinkled his nose and stared up at the towering serpent. "What is it this time, Jor?" He beckoned to the great, terrible head. "Stomachache? Toothache?" There was a very short list of things that ever set his son in this much of a temper.

Something akin to a hissing whine filled the air as Jörmungandr lowered his head and closed four of his six, glowing red eyes. He settled his head on the sandy shores with a huffing sigh, angled towards his father.

Loki strode closer, reaching out to check his child's health with a ripple of healing magic. He found his serpentine son to be suffering from a headache and an angry gash along the corner of his mouth. He frowned at the wound and began to cast the necessary magic that would heal it.

"Where did you get this?" He demanded.

Jörmungandr snorted.

"Jörmungandr." Loki perked a brow.

The giant serpent squeezed the last two eyes shut.

Loki suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and settled for stroking the nearest patch of blue-green-black scales instead. "You are not in trouble." He soothed.

Are you sure?

"No."

There was a moment of long silence.

Loki sighed. He patted the scales a little harder than he'd stroked.

Jörmungandr snuffled, his great forked tongue darting out to test the air and the emotions hidden on it. He relaxed almost at once.

There was a fight. Somewhere. I don't know where or why. I wasn't even causing trouble!

Loki nodded to show he was listening. He could see the almost pout visible on said scaled face.

And then they fell on top of me and I wasn't expecting it. Jörmungandr hissed. It hurt! I really wasn't expecting it!

Loki boosted himself upwards to reach more of the shiny, drying scales and began to apply his hands and magic there. He could feel the happy thrum of feedback from his son, who fairly basked in the meager attention.

"Who hurt you?"

Jörmungandr shifted. If I say, will you hunt them?

"Jörmungandr!"

I don't want you to leave again. It wouldn't be satisfying hunt. You can stay. It is okay. It doesn't hurt too much.

An odd, warm feeling settled over Loki, one that he could recognize as a hint of pride and appreciation that sometimes surfaced in regards to his lovely children. "Has it healed over yet?"

Jörmungandr shuddered. Not yet.

"But it's healing?" Loki frowned. Usually, his healing spells were quick and powerful. A sudden thought struck him and he grimaced. An injury like that had certainly come from a weapon and if healing time was slow, then the weapon had been of celestial forging. He did not like that. He did not like that at all. He poured a little more heart and soul into the spell. "No eating for at least two hours so the healing is complete." He warned.

Yes, father. Thank you.

"You are welcome." Loki half-smiled.

"Jörmungandr?" He tapped the scale closest to him, waiting.

One red eye blinked open, gauging the expression on his father's face, before they all opened. Yes, father?

"I am taking a vacation of…sorts." Loki drew in a breath. He slid down from his son's face. "In Scotland, at a place called Hogwarts."

The red eyes blinked, as if willing him to continue on.

"It is a school for mortal children with magical inclinations."

The red eyes opened wide.

"I intend to insinuate myself within their—community—and I will send for you."

Y-you will? Truly, Father?

"Have I ever lied to you?"

And here, Jörmungandr gave a decisive shake. Never, father!

"I will send for you when I am settled."

The others?

"Hel is making arrangements." Loki drew near to stroke the glistening scales once more. Jörmungandr leaned gently into the touch. "I will ask you to see Fenrir soon."

To break his chains?

"Yes. Once and for all."

Jörmungandr gave a pleased hiss at that. And Sleipnir?

"When Fenrir is freed, I shall call to him. He will not remain a beast of burden to the Allfather."

Will I be a student? What will I do? Will Hel be one too?

"You will all be students, to some degree." Loki smiled. "I shall be a professor. I believe that is the best option."

Magic?

"Of course." Loki smirked. "I shall give you a form like mine."

Jörmungandr nearly bowled him over in his enthusiastic appreciation.

Loki visited Fenrir the moment he left Jörmungandr. His serpentine son was quite adept at transportation and location spells, able to keep tabs on all his siblings and his trickster father. It was a very useful and unique talent.

The trickster materialized in the open, shadowed airs of the isle of Lyngvi and listened for the low, labored pants of his wolf-son Fenrisúlfr. The sound pained him, but he cast out the usual spells for privacy, detection and caution, before approaching the clearing where his son was chained.

A faint hitch in the breaths alerted Loki to his son's awareness of his presence. He did not wait beyond that, but instead strode forward with his head high and arms open. Fenrisúlfr greeted him with a quiet, pleased yip. A sound that repeated itself more strongly as Loki began to cast healing spells in rapid succession as he often did when he visited this particular child.

Fenrisúlfr's feet had become bloody and torn where the manacles on the chain seemed to have grown into the furred flesh. He whined and panted as his father worked the healing spells that allowed him the barest measures of relief. His twin tails thumped happily on the ground when the healing was over and Loki took up a position near his neck, to better scratch the large, black ears.

Father… The whine was pleased. I am so happy to see you, father, so happy-!

"And I you." Loki murmured. He energetically scratched at the spot that made the twin tails begin to thump in rapid flips. "What would you like to eat?"

The great maw hung open, red tongue lolling out as Fenrisúlfr scrolled through the options in his mind. Boar. He thought, decisively. Haven't had in such a long time, father.

"Boar it is then." Loki muttered. He cast the spell to search and find a suitable specimen for his hungry son.

When the snack was finished—for it was really more of a snack than a meal—Loki settled down to share his thoughts on his self-imposed 'vacation'.

Fenrisúlfr of course, was quite thrilled. No more chains? The hope in his mindspeak was nearly unbearable to the sensitive trickster who buried his face in the thick, soft fur and nodded once. I would like that very much, father. He agreed. Can I be Fenris?

Loki nodded again, bone-weary. Fenrisúlfr was always the second child that pained him so deeply to visit. "Jor will come." He explained, in hushed, soft tones into that great ear.

His venom will melt the chains?

"If it does not, then his fangs will tear them to shreds." Loki promised. "I will not leave you."

Fenrisúlfr nuzzled the green-clothed figure affectionately, before curling around it as best as he could and settling down for a nap. His father's company was more than welcome, but he knew of his older brother Sleipnir and would never deny him the precious time that Loki allotted to each of them in turn.

It was with every caution that Loki teleported himself into one of the safepoints he used when visiting his firstborn. Sleipnir shuffled restlessly in his stall and when Loki finally made himself visible, he was greeted with a warm whicker.

Loki threw his arms around the slender neck, happy that he could hold him close. "Sleipnir." He buried his face in the honey-hued mane and breathed in the scent of straw, dust and musk.

Loki ran his fingers along the glossy coat. "And I have missed you." He murmured.

So Fenris and Jor will come with you?

"We will all come." Loki said, softly. "And it will be done with the utmost of secrecy and the blessing of death."

Sleipnir hung his head over his father's shoulder, the best kind of hug he could give in his present form. Loki patted the warm neck, threading his long, lean fingers through the golden mane. He smoothed the coarse hair into neatened portions.

How long will I stay?

"Forever, perhaps." Loki murmured. "I will not take you only to give you up again."

Thank you, father.

When Loki transported himself to the magical community in London, a place titled Diagon Alley. He did not waste any time mucking about. He took quick stock of his surroundings, of the people present and of what he ought to be careful of.

He was quite pleased to note that their magic paled drastically in comparison to his own. In fact, he was a raging fire among meager flames. It was a lovely boost to his ego.

So Loki moved quickly through the streets, searching for someone who would not be missed. A few snippets of conversation floated by his ears and he turned toward it.

"What's next on the list, 'Arry?"

"A wand?" A scruffy little urchin of a mortal squinted towards a scroll of parchment paper. He stood next to a heavily bearded, rotund man with too loud a voice.

"C'mere 'Arry, this is Ollivander's place. It's best to buy a wand; you'll find 'e carries a good one."

Loki followed to see where the giant fellow stepped off and the little waif entered a shabby old shop. The Trickster was silent as he drew a spell of invisibility around himself and ventured forward after the child.

He lingered in the shadowy depths and watched as the old man sorted out a wand for the boy. It was an odd little affair that ended with a cryptic little message of how the boy was lucky to find a wand that matched that of one who had tried to kill him.

Loki scoffed at that. Magic did not need a wand to limit it. But he was able to pull a list from the child's hand—Harry, was it?—and skim the contents. It was nothing of tremendous consequence; he could easily duplicate the necessary items or conjure them if needed.

With that in mind, he turned to go, pausing to allow the visible little Harry to scamper out first. He frowned, noting the overlarge clothes and a few not quite faded bruises. His sharp eye catalogued them and tucked them away as the wiry old voice called out to him.

"And what can I do for you—oh!" The words trailed off in a cry as old man Ollivander came face to face with burning green eyes and a wicked smirk.

"I need nothing." Loki hissed. His eyes flared green and he stole the knowledge secreted within the barely shielded mortal mind. It was something of interest and importance, of rare things and wandlore. Loki tucked it away for later. It would help him ensure that his children were properly outfitted for the whole adventure of Hogwarts.

"Thank you." He murmured a spell to erase the memory of his own visit and vanished with a click of his fingers.

When Loki rounded up the necessary things and information he required—or more specifically—set in place eyes and ears for him, he rested in a space labeled as the Leaky Cauldron and kept a table cleared solely for him.

He had adopted a slightly sharper look at first to disguise himself, but then it had simply become easier to shift into his alternate gender, the Lady Loki and take up residence instead. While he doubted there were people actively searching for the god of lies and mischief, it did not hurt to be cautious.

Shifting into Lady Loki for the time being, resolved half of his troubles at once, for even Thor had never seen his full female form and thought it a useless thing to have.

Loki had always been careful afterwards to keep it from the Thunder god's eyes. He preferred to keep his secrets many and well-hidden. Lady Loki was a perfect temporary replacement for now. It would be an excellent cover and his children never minded which gender he shifted into. As long as he could be there for them, he fully intended to revel in his capacity as a parent once more.

At the moment, Loki himself did not care either, as long as he could live comfortably, in a new playground without attracting the attention of those wretched avengers or any pathetic villains. He—she—smirked.

Lady Loki's attention was diverted when the loud-mouthed giant and the little Harry-waif came traipsing into the Leaky Cauldron. She listened as the little Harry-waif was introduced into the stuttering excuse of a fool by the name of Professor Quirinus Quirrell. At that, Lady Loki's eyebrows arched upwards into her hairline.

He was quite a stuttering fool.

And Harry wasn't not impressed. He'd actually winced and rubbed at his head.

A headache, perhaps? Lady Loki mused to herself. Nari was prone to headaches when he did not spend enough time out of the light. She frowned, Nari had a valid excuse, Harry did not quite have the same. When the bumbling fool excused himself to go and purchase a book on Vampires, of all creatures, Lady Loki left her table and excused herself after him. She had not missed the meaning of little interaction between him and the Harry-waif that had caught her eye. There was mischief afoot and it was not of the favorable kind.

She thought Harry to be a somewhat likeable child, somewhat reminiscent of Fenrisulfr's messy black mane and with vivid green eyes, a hereditary trait she hadn't managed to ever keep from passing on to her own offspring, not that she minded,of course. But Harry's reaction was only one reason that the Trickster could not help following the stuttering idiot outside.

It was only a matter of minutes before Lady Loki singled him out from the crowd and simply followed along until the first moment presented itself. When it did, she took it. The turbaned professor found himself pinned against the cold stone of a shop wall, with vise-like hands wrested around his neck. "You should be more careful, mortal," Lady Loki murmured. "Because I do intend to enjoy this!" Vivid green eyes burned and there was a faint hiss as Loki caught the scent of burning flesh.

With hardly a flick of her wrist and a flat pulse of magic, the turbaned Professor was roughly pulled into the puppeteer manipulation that Loki had always been rather fond of. She cast the enchantment to the mortal's very bones, displeased when she realized there was more than simply a dimwitted mind present in the physical body.

Lady Loki left the limp body crumpled in the alleyway. She would retrieve it after she'd finished her one more thing. Then, she would be willing to traipse along to Hogwarts. She delved carefully into the surface of the man's mind, sifting out all necessary points of information and then planted the necessary seeds for the future. Never mind, she would deal with it later. With a flare of magic, the body was suddenly burnt away to nothing but bones and then those flared into flame, then ash and dust that was quickly swept away.

Then she bent and traced a few shapes in the remaining ash, an apology to Hel who would be sure to be the one to greet the troubled professor.

Perhaps she wouldn't have to return to the alley after all, she could simply have the professor summon her. Yes. That would be good. After all, the man was supposed to be teaching a class of Defense Against the Dark Arts. How ironic. Loki smirked.

A/N: Thanks for reading! This fic will be updated as I have the time. :)

~Scion

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.